


(tell them that) i'm not afraid to die

by constanted



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Aasimar, Aasimar And Aarakocra Are Very Different. Taako., Alternate Universe, Bullshit Genetics, Cracking Open A Cold One In Heaven, Feats! We Love 'Em!, Fucking With DND Canon, Gen, God Complex, Goofin' Around In Midair With The Boys, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 17:39:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16560296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constanted/pseuds/constanted
Summary: And he lifts off of the ground, and he’s flying, and all his brain is telling him is protectprotectprotect, and that’s what he wants, so he does.(or: the one where Magnus isn't human)





	(tell them that) i'm not afraid to die

**Author's Note:**

> my coworker mentioned playing a protector aasimar and my brain heard "protector" instantly went into its terrible Magnus Zone and was like. goddamn. let's make this fucker's complexes WORSE. a main thought being "magnus burnsides is the exact opposite of duck newton." and i thought it would be like 2k max but then it became this. so. uh. i hope you enjoy this fun little retelling wherein i fuck with dnd canon for the sake of having a good time.
> 
> actual proper notes at the end, but, uh:
> 
> _Protector aasimar are charged by the powers of good to guard the weak, to strike at evil wherever it arises, and to stand vigilant against the darkness. From a young age, a protector aasimar receives advice and directives that urge them to stand against evil._

**i.**

The dog is crying, and he doesn’t know what else to do but fight its attackers. He’s scrappy, sure, but he’s never gotten involved in anything more than a schoolyard brawl, quickly pulled apart by his grandpa or another teacher. But this feels--important. Magnus is ten years old, and he knows what pain looks like, and he knows what a bully looks like, so he distracts them, best he can. The dog whimpers as he starts trying to hit these older kids--he knows some of their siblings, but they’re strangers--and it howls as he gets decked in the face.

And hearing that howl, Magnus starts to feel something he’s never felt before. It feels like light.

And he lifts off of the ground, and he’s flying, and all his brain is telling him is _protectprotectprotect_ , and that’s what he wants, so he does. He knows these boys only hurt, they broke Zaharra’s tusk off because she told them to leave her be, kicked Daniel’s ass because he looked at them funny.

So he flies. Feels bright energy on his back, feels warmth in his eyes and hands and back, and he thinks, I can fight, and I can win. And he thinks, I can protect. I am supposed to protect. This is what he is meant to do.

The older kids run away, eyes burning from light and skin stinging from the impact thereof. The dog stares at Magnus. He lands, stumbles, feels his stomach get tight.

He didn’t think that he could do that.

The dog jumps into his arms; he holds it, for a moment. It rubs its neck on him, whines. It trusts him. He thought it’d be scared, but it trusts him. And he doesn’t know anything about this, doesn’t know what he just did or what this means about anything.

He looks at the sky. Same purple sky, same two suns.

He thinks that maybe, now, he can fly up to see them.

 

**ii.**

He doesn’t tell his grandpa about what happened, claims he just got his ass kicked. He still hears that voice that came out the first time he flew, telling him to intervene and fight and protect and be good. It feels like wool. Mostly, he hears the voice when he’s asleep. And he listens, and just claims to be getting really good at fights. And that works, for a little bit, at least until the feathers. Magnus doesn’t even notice them until a meeting with a healer about homebrewing hormone potions, and he’s pretty bored with it, eleven and twitchy and all that, when the healer suddenly touches his back. He jumps.

“Magnus, you’ve got something on your shoulders.”

She plucks something and he winces, and she presents a blue-black feather to him, a white blotch covering about a third of its left side.

“Um,” he says, and his grandpa narrows his eyes. Glances toward the wool curtains. Glances back at Magnus.

“Mr. Burnsides, are--”

“Please, Lara, we’re—you’re not my student anymore. You can call me Ari.”

“Ari, your grandson shows signs of--well. We should--”

She ushers his grandfather out of the room, and he’s left alone, a single feather in his hand. And when he closes his eyes, he sees wool.

 

**iii.**

Magnus isn’t dumb. A lot of people assume that about him, but he’s not dumb. He knows there’s something wrong with him, because his grandpa never keeps things secret from him; he’s known the alleged secret family recipe for doughnuts since he was, like, five, and that was a secret. So. This is obviously a bad secret, and he doesn’t know how to bring up the fact that, oh yeah, sometimes when I’m very angry, I fly, in normal conversation, but.

It takes six months after the feathers for his grandpa to sit him down and say, “Son.”

This is how he always opens Serious Conversations, which are the bane of Magnus’ existence, probably. They’re always about things like his bio-dad or needing to stop picking fights or bringing his grades up, none of which are things he likes talking about.

“Is this about the feathers?” he asks, because he isn’t dumb.

“Kinda. It’s--”

“Is it bad? Because I don’t--sometimes when I’m angry, I fly, and it hurts people, and I really don’t wanna, uh, be violent, because that’s bad, but--but it’s--it’s always because the people I’m hurting are hurting somebody else, and--I’m really sorry.”

“Mags, it’s--that’s not weird, with your condition, it’s not bad. It’s good, Maggie, you’re good.”

“Condition sounds like a bad--I’m not dumb!”

“You’re not. You’re not dumb, you just got some celestial blood in you. You’re a protector. It’s what you do.”

His grandpa shows him a book. He’s an unusual case, apparently, but not entirely unheard of; there are three ways his people are born, and he’s the third listed, with two sentences compared to the others types’ five and seven. Science does not have an explanation. Divine intervention, the book says, can ignite celestial heritage’s signs well into a child’s development.

He wonders who would want him, so much, to protect.

 

**iv.**

He meets Istus for the first time when he is fifteen and dreaming.

Since this started, he’s changed more--black scleras and white irises, instead of white scleras and black irises. When he is emotional, black-with-white wings manifest behind him, and his whole body emits a light that can hurt or heal, depending. It feels very dramatic, which he already is even without the wings and weird eyes. He doesn’t try and hold his emotions back. His grandpa says that’s unhealthy, and that aasimars need to let themselves feel, because otherwise they get disconnected from the Prime Material. People stare at him, which makes him brutally uncomfortable. But it’s also kinda cool--he likes being impressive. Likes being liked. And people _like_ the wings. So, therefore, it can’t be all bad.

Amari Runesolve kisses him under the bleachers at school and asks to see the wings while they make out. Magnus thinks this is a kinda weird request of him, but he does it, and accidentally burns Amari’s hands. They don’t really talk after that.

Still. He does like flying, and he does like being able to protect people. So he’s pretty okay with himself.

But he doesn’t have the full scope of himself until he meets Istus when he is fifteen and dreaming.

She’s a woman who looks nothing like he’d expect her too, considering that she’s technically his patron. She’s long and willowy and gentle, thinks before she acts. She talks soft, and she weaves him scarves and sweaters and blankets and tapestries, and she teaches him how to protect. It’s what he’s made for, his destiny. And he likes that, having a destiny, having a purpose. A math teacher tells him that he is aimless, and he shakes his head. He’s a protector, and he’s good at it, which means he’s already aimed. He’s already shot.

Well. He’s already shot, and then, he fails.

 

**v.**

He’s at his round two interview for the Institute’s Young Talents Program, which he thinks is actually a Secret Thing about that famous Light, when his grandfather dies, ten-and-a-half miles away. Arcane cause, undetermined motive, if any. He screams when he finds out, burns the cops that try and make him leave the house, blacks out.

He wakes up and his interviewer is staring at him from above. Said interviewer is a gnome, so Magnus infers that he’s prone.

“You made it in,” he says, “My team. I insisted. I like your spirit. Try not to get thrown in jail too much, the grant can only cover so much bail.”

“I was in jail?”

“Assaulting an officer through untrained extraplanar energy. What they would’ve charged, I think. I said that emotional trauma and uncontrolled magic use often go hand in hand, and I said that if they let you out, I’d train ya.”

“Do we know if my whole… deal. Can be trained?”

“Well, we don’t, but the cops don’t have to know that. You will have physical training requirements, but you beat Institute records in eight of the twelve trials, so I’m not so worried.”

“And you don’t care that—that’ll happen again?”

“Burnsides, do you know anything about bonds?”

“Read that they’re pseudoscientific bullshit. But I like the concept, ‘cuz I like people?”

“Pseudoscientific bullshit, _sir,_ Burnsides, but—well, that was the assumption for years, until we obtained the Light.”

“I—clearance on the Light already?”

“Mr. Burnsides, bonds are beyond belief, yes, but they’re real, and your status as a protector is based on ‘em.”

Magnus blinks, for a little bit, singles out gray hairs in the gnome’s mustache.

“We can provide housing. And the funeral’s set for tomorrow.”

“T—sir, uh—I don’t think—I can’t protect anymore, and that’s—“

“You can protect, Burnsides. You just can’t travel in time, or be in two places at once. Hell, I’m an astrophysical engineer and I can’t do that.”

 

**vi.**

He feels like a failure, still. The funeral had gone about as well as a funeral can go, and he didn’t lose his cool, just cried. But protection is in his blood, his bones, and he failed, and someone he’s known his whole life is dead.

He moves in with the Institute, has a child prodigy biographer, one year his junior at eighteen, as a roommate. She’s human, and he says he’s the same, even though it takes a hell of a failed Perception check for that to be believable. She doesn’t question him, though, which is nice. She calls him fascinating, paints his nails for him.

He likes the Captain's team; latches onto the wizard twins as soon as he sees them, and in a move that surprises pretty much everybody at the Institute, the twins also latch onto him. Taako knows what he is within seconds of them meeting, polymorphs himself wings just to taunt him. Lup is a really good sparring partner, tough as nails and able to put up a fight. Merle takes an instant liking to him, asks for help with on extraplanar fauna research, and Magnus isn’t super sciencey, but he does love taking care of elemental dogs. And Barry helps with the mourning, he does. Barry’s… weird about death. But he’s nice. Keeps Magnus going.

These are his people, he realizes, on a night where he, Taako, Lup, and Lucretia are watching some shitty horror movie. These six people who he met, who he works with, are who he’s supposed to keep safe. Istus tells him as much, too, says, _you have followed threads so well. you live among the stars, magnus burnsides, you’re amazing,_ as he sleeps.

 

**vii.**

“Control is difficult,” says Lup, “God knows I’m fuckin’ bad at it, but there’s an art to it, okay Maggie? So that when you lose your cool, you don’t accidentally cause casualties. Can you manifest on command, or is it only an emotional thing?”

“On command’s cool,” he says, “Uh. Any, uh strong emotion makes it a little stronger, though, like--healing, too. When I heal people, it’s stronger if I’m in the extremes.”

“Hm,” Lup says, “If it’s boosted, we want that.  Um. So, I’m not gonna trigger a panic attack, ‘cuz I’m not an asshole, but--what makes you happy, bud?”

He takes a moment, “Dogs?”

“Nice. You’re a sweet, simple boy, Burnsides. Gimme an hour.”

And she comes back with a box full of conjured puppies, which obviously makes Magnus cry, which obviously makes him go all celestial, because they’re so _small_ and _vulnerable_ , and Lup says: “Focus.”

He breathes. Looks at Lup. Sees where she’s faltering, considers how to help her. He likes her, he thinks, she’s really, really cool.

“Mags, focus. Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Okay, cool. You mentioned that sometimes the transition makes you black out?”

“My patron takes over for me if I start getting out of control.”

“But you’re in control right now.”

“Because you’re nice,” he says.

She conjures a target, which is shot down immediately with bright light, and then hit in midair by Magnus’ axe. He’s being braggy, sure, but Lup’s impressed, and Lup is maybe the coolest person he’s ever met, so. He doesn’t really give a shit.

“So with that kind of power,” she says, “You gotta learn the control. You ever sculpt? Carve?”

“I drew when I was a kid? I was never really. Uh. Patient.”

“Okay, I can make that work. So, you wanna think about magic as--lines. all parallel, all moving.”

“MIne’s not magic.”

“Same principles apply. But you have to curve it. Take away the parallel. A big part of spell-sculpting is just imagining the shapes, like, uh,” she creates a small fireball in her left palm, “So this is a straight channel, going up and down and up and down. But if I want it to do--” she shifts it into a shield, “This, I gotta push the curvature. You try. Your light is just blocks, forward, like a waterfall, so, uh. Dam it up, make a ball.”

He pictures just that, and after a few shaky attempts, he has a little ball of light in his hands.

“Now, make a shield,” Lup smiles. He does. She sends a fireball his way, and he deftly dodges, bounces it towards the ground with the edge of his light.

“Okay, kid. It’s a start.”

 

**viii.**

Home is swallowed whole. Magnus didn’t have many friends, didn’t have any family left, but that’s one billion people, almost, consumed. Gone. Dead. No signal from the Institute. And he worries about the team, suddenly--a world wasn’t strong enough to save itself, how will they survive?

He hears Lup telling him not to panic, feels Merle grab his hand, but he’s already off the ground, and he’s already ready to kill whatever the fuck that monster was.

They run, though. They run, and when they’re through the breach, Magnus’ back feels heavier than before.

He blinks. His head is less foggy, but less focused, too.

“It’s been way more than a minute,” says Taako, “So, uh, the apocalypse happened, our security boy’s broken, and we’re stuck in space, so--I’m going to bed. Good night, assholes, good night!”

“I’m not--”

He’s not manifesting anymore. He’s in total control, Istus isn’t creeping up, telling him anything. All he has is his base instincts.

“They’re not spectral,” Barry is behind him, and he’s touching his back but that’s not his back but but but, “Don’t know shit about birds, Dr. Highchurch, can you--”

“Don’t recognize the pattern. And fuckin’ hell, Barold, you can call me Merle.”

“I just--I want to show that I respect you, because I know that--”

“Eh, I don’t care about your Institute buddies’ respect. I know my worth.”

“Can we, uh,” Lucretia chimes in, “While this conversation is charming, I do think we should focus on the fact that our teammate just--we went through a portal, and he sprouted physical wings.”

“He’s had spectral ones.”

“I know that, Barry, I’m not completely unobservant, believe it or not. I was hired because I’m observant. Biologically, though--and I’m not expert, so, Dr. Hi--Merle, correct me if I’m wrong, but this is a--this typically happens due to physical trauma. We should. Um.”

“Keep going,” says Lup, patting Lucretia’s shoulder.

“We should run physicals on everyone. I, personally, feel fine, if not--a bit fucked up. I mean. That’s a given. Considering. But we need to collect this data, if not for my sake, for our own well-being.”

“Coat’s ripped,” Taako says, lazily, “ _Captain,_ Magnus ripped his uniform already.”

“Are you joking right now?” Davenport sounds offended, “Are you--” static on the comms, and then silence, again, “We don’t--Highchurch, Bluejeans, organize the physicals. Burnsides, take Olatunji’s anxiety medication--”

“I can transmute more,” Taako offers when Lucretia looks concerned.

“I’m not anxious. I’m, like--” he lands. Feels different, “I feel totally normal. Just. Heavier. Do they look cool?”

“Super rad,” says Lup, and Lucretia and Taako and Merle all nod.

“They _feel_ cool?” Barry asks.

“Heavy. Uh. Probably not gonna be able to fly super well, but I can kinda hover with ‘em?”

“They’re big.”

“Fuck yeah they are.”

Davenport still makes him take Lucretia’s meds, and they do calm him down. He gives Barry some of his blood for the physicals, and while data won’t be ready ‘til tomorrow, he’s positive that something’s wrong, if only because of how quickly he feels like these extra limbs have always been his. He doesn’t toss as he sleeps, stays on his stomach, and he does not dream of Istus.

 

**ix.**

He wakes up surprised that he is alive. The wings stuck, the being-alive stuck, the world ending stuck. And he hears a conversation.

“So we’re not--we’re not identical?”

“Well, before we left, you were, but whatever the force that transferred us over to--wherever here is--was, it fucked with the genomes. And obviously--I mean, human identical twins vary, of course, at least in little ways, but--it’s a shift in arcana levels, effectively. Not unequal, just—different. We all clearly—whatever happened, it caused us to adapt. To something.”

“You guys are identical?” Magnus asks, and he runs into the doorframe because he forgot to fold, fuck.

“Got a problem?”

“No, uh. No, if I were an identical twin, woulda been a similar situation is all. Not because of the wings. But.”

“Gotcha.”

“Magnus, your genes are obviously fucked up, too, and we can source that to divine intervention. Merle says that it’s not too infrequent--aasimar and tiefling warlocks and clerics and paladins get this shit all the time. Per Merle.”

“I’m not a warlock or a cleric or a paladin.”

“Yeah, but. Divine intervention. Also, surprisingly, your plasma type changed?”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. I can give to you, now.”

“So he’s O?” Lup asks.

“How the fuck do you know Barry’s blood type?” Taako asks, just as Magnus opens his mouth to say pretty much the same thing.

“Plasma type. And I was trying to get dirt on our crew-mates, Taako. Duh.”

“Yeah, we weren’t doing, like--dark magicks for my dissertation. That would just be, uh. Kinda weird.”

“Totally.”

“They’re freaks, Mangus. Freaks.”

“Mangus?”

“S’your name. You want coffee?”

“Desperately.”

A cup levitates toward him, and he grabs it, chugs it.

Taako steers Magnus away from Lup and Barry, because, as Taako has told Magnus many times before, they are in weird necromancer love with each other, and neither of them are admitting that they are A) necromancers or B) in love any time soon. They end up in the kitchen.

“Feeling peckish?”

“Very nice. Would work better if I was aarakocra, though.”

“Double A’s and wings, same difference.”

“Other three up?”

“Merle’s tending to his plants. Books and the Cap didn’t sleep.”

“Books slept,” says a lump of blankets on the counter.

“Well, the Cap didn’t sleep. And Books didn’t sleep well, clearly.”

“Magnus’s gonna fly the ship to survey,” Lucretia steals Taako’s mug as she sits up.

“Physicals are ready,” he contributes.

“Yeah, she grew an inch, higher pain tolerance we think, and her hair mutated. Cap can’t eat wheat anymore but he’s more dextrous, and Merle’s eyes went hazel’nstead of black, and he gained some more druidic abilities.”

And Lucretia unwraps her hair--she didn’t even unwrap it, Magnus realizes, from the night before they left. Her dreads, usually stark black, are white.

“Huh,” she says.

“What happened to Barry?”

“More muscle mass.”

“Why didn’t _I_ get buffer?”

“I mean, life ain’t fair. You have literal wings.”

“I’m six-five,” Lucretia says, “Fuck. Um. Taako, can you--go over all of the data with me, just so that I can record it?”

“Okay, kids, Taako’s gonna show you how the fuck you deliver a medical report.”

 

**x.**

He dreams of a spider all year long. She terrifies him. She weaves, and she weaves, and she weaves, and she binds him to her.

 

**xi.**

The Power Bear asks him why he didn’t seek the owl instead. And he says, “I don’t really consider wisdom to be my strong suit?”

“You’re avian.”

“Celestial, actually.”

“…And who is your patron?”

“Lady Istus.”

“The Weaver,” says the Power Bear, “She has patience. She learns. Do you?”

“Uh.”

“What do you want, Weaver?”

“I’d like to, uh. Train with you? Become stronger. Protect my friends, cuz that’s what I’m--supposed to do. Protect.”

“Supposed to. The Weaver does like that, huh? Tell me, Magnus: what is the meaning of protection?”

“Strength.”

“And the meaning of that?”

 

**xii.**

He’s trying desperately to fly off, after he sees his mentor killed by the same beast that took his home, and he can’t die now, not when he has heart to give, not when the crew needs him. But he’s knocked down, feels his wings battered. His axe is dropped, the light he’s channelling dimmed.

Death consumes him.

 

**xiii.**

He feels himself knit back together, wings outstretched, black eye regained, and everybody staring at him.

“Time loop,” Davenport whispers, “Bluejeans, we’ll test later.”

Barry nods.

Magnus’ chest is flooded with guilt; he can’t save worlds, he’ll never do what he was supposed to do, and Istus does not reassure him when she says he has to keep fighting.

This is a populated world, humans and elves and dwarves and the like, and they stare at Magnus.

He gets used to staring pretty quickly. He doesn’t get used to failing at all.

 

**xiv.**

He takes cycle eleven to teach himself how to fly. Lucretia and Barry are still fucked up over the Mushroom Incident, which is annoying, because “team human’s gotta realize that it’s disturbing to see a nineteen or twenty year-old corpse,” but he’s not even human, so he doesn’t get it.

“You age like we do,” Barry says, “Aasimar and tieflings are just mutations of the species they’re born into; it’s societal, not biological, for the most part.”

But he takes cycle eleven to teach himself how to fly, because he doesn’t want to feel human. He doesn’t age like a human, he doesn’t pass as human, he doesn’t see the world like a human. That makes him vulnerable; he is built for protection, and humans are--Taako said it, not him--fragile little fucks. And Magnus is a little fuck, sure, but he’s not fucking fragile.

So he takes cycle eleven to teach himself how to fly.

Taako goes with him, as does Merle. Davenport always fears that particular dynamic; the three of them together are. Well. Certainly something, is what Davenport says, but honestly, it works well. They have each others’ backs, know just the right ways to shape spells and weapons and actions around each other. They know when the other two might need a helping hand.

Merle perches on a floating disk, while Taako sits next to Magnus on a particularly large tree that they found.

“So, when you polymorph, you just. Know how to do it?”

“Brain adapts,” Taako says, “Merle you ever polymorphed? I doubt it, cuz you’ve never correctly used a spell in your life, but.”

Merle flips him off, but then shrugs, “Nah.”

“Gotcha. But, yeah, brain adapts to the form, so I can’t give you, like. Good instructions. Because when I’m living my truth, _my_ Birdman life, it’s just natural.”

“Maybe it’s natural for you, kiddo?” Merle shrugs, “You tried?”

“Nah, Cap’n’port stopped me every time.”

“Curmudgeon,” Merle says pleasantly, “Not like you’re gonna die _forever._ ”

“That’s very true. But he said that death being irrelevant was not a reason to jump off of a building.”

“I mean, it’s kinda lacking in pragmatism.”

“You two can catch me if I fuck up?”

“I mean. No offense, Mango, but you’re kinda he--I’m fucking kidding, I’ll cast feather fall. Fuck you. I--I’m not fucking heartless. You’re my friend.”

“I’m your _friend_?” Magnus almost starts crying. Taako pushes him off the tree while he’s off-guard, and he almost hits the ground, but instinct kicks in, a hammer on a knee, and he bolts up, and he beams as Taako jumps up a few levels on the tree to catch up with him. Taako shifts himself, joins in, and Merle steers his floating disk up to meet them. There’s a general air of fuckery, and Magnus doesn’t have a total grasp on steering, but he feels--free.

Which Lucretia would say is a boring adjective, but it’s the only word he has, this feeling of comfort and adrenaline that fills him up to his core. He feels safe, feels at home. And he hasn’t felt at home in twelve years, now, but he’s here with his _friends_ in the sky, and it’s perfect.

They fly up to meet the ship, scare the shit out of Lucretia, who decides it is her duty to help them scare the shit out of the other three, who, barring Lup, are adequately freaked.

 

**xv.**

Flying becomes a regular thing--Magnus gets good at it fast, because it’s athletic by its very nature, and he’s very strong. It also makes the beach year incredibly fun, because, look--sneak attacks on land, he’s already mastered. But sneak attacks from midair? Incredible. Lucretia’s gotten used to him surprisingly fast, can flip him in a heartbeat, but Barry, Merle, and Davenport are really good targets, okay? He’s also Taako’s appointed wave scout, but he’s later unappointed when Taako finds out that Magnus isn’t hip with all of the surfing lingo vis-a-vis wave types and wave dopeness.

Even if this world has nothing, nobody, he’s glad they can save it. He’s glad it can be protected. He doesn’t like thinking back to the robot world, how, even if Taako saved the people, so much of that culture, that world is gone, and he could have done so much more.

But he didn’t.

Magnus decides that he is not very good at achieving his destiny.

 

**xvi.**

There are good cycles, sometimes.

The kids love the wings, and Magnus loves the kids, so the Tesseralia Losers are kind of great. Winged beings symbolize peace, here--like pretty much everything--so parents like him and trust him. And the kids mostly like piggyback rides. And there’s an aarakocra girl who he teaches some wild air stunts to, and, yes, there is maybe some Fantasy-Air-Budding going on there, during the big game, but he’s happy to have kept those kids safe, happy to have made them happy even as their world was hurt.

At least they recovered the Light, he tells himself. He always tells himself that, when he gets the chance.

Puppy Town is very good, in that not only does the team recover the Light within hours of its landing, but also because of the dogs. They chase him, of course, but it’s a game. Taako says they want to eat him, because it’s the bird-dogs that do the most chasing, but also, they’re so cute that he doesn’t care. A death in Puppy Town is a death worth dying for.

Merle dies a lot. It’s normal, at this point, and it makes Magnus want to fly up and ask the Hunger questions himself.

But he doesn’t.

 

**xvii.**

On Legato, Magnus changes. He carves ducks, which everyone is needlessly jokey about--ducks aren’t even corvidae, or whatever. But he’s proud of his ducks, satisfied with his ducks. They’re not perfect, but they’re the best he can do.

And then, there’s Fisher. Fisher is fascinated by him, likes it when he glows next to them. Lucretia says it’s ridiculous, but it’s very sweet. And Istus talks to him when he shuts his eyes, every blink a _protect_ , and as he grabs his friend and runs and soars, Lucretia and the fish in either hand, he thinks he’s finally done it right.

They are his friend, Fisher, sweet and gentle and worth his every breath and action. Lucretia says it’s worrying that the only reason he’s been so good at avoiding death, lately, is because of this fish. He knows what she means, sure, but with Merle gone all of the time and with everything getting worse, he hasn’t had a lot of hope.

And this fish is hope, right there. And they make the whole crew happy. Bounce around the ship, go flying with Magnus, play with ducks.

 

**xviii.**

Davenport made Magnus agree to stop sacrificing himself during cycle thirty, a point at which he already had twelve deaths behind him. He’s had six accidentals since then.

This is how Magnus dies for the nineteenth time:

He is accused of heresy, impersonating the Judges’ interpretation of god, singular. Which, he thinks, is very sexy of him. And he is accused of pride and wrath, and he is those but more, he is good and he is a protector, and he breaks his bonds, and then.

And then, he wraps his arms around Lucretia, and the seven of them and Fisher spend a night together, his wings their pillows.

These are the people he protects. These are the people who protect him.

He takes Lucretia and Fisher on a fly as soon as they land. She casts Fly on herself--which she’s never done before, so that’s cool--and they laugh, and he thinks, this is protection; freedom and laughing and fish and a sister, together and safe.

 

**xiv.**

“Maaaagnus.”

“Baaaarold.”

“I need to ask you a personal question.”

“I’m not gonna join you and Lup in bed, for the last time! In spite of my amazing body and physical capability, you’re both like siblings to me--”

“ _Gross_ , no, terrible, Magnus. Mags, it’s--this is a necromancy question.”

Barry walks into Magnus’ room looking tremendously nervous. He’s trying out facial hair this year, and while it’s usually not entirely terrible, right now it makes him look like he’s headed toward Tom Hanks in Fantasy Castaway. Sometimes, it’s easy to make fun of Lucretia’s not-quite-joking jealousy toward Barry. Magnus understands, with this beard.

“So Magnus, you had a--genetic switch flipped on you when you were a kid, right?”

“When I was divine intervened by Istus, yeah, and I got all Celestial and got cool light powers? It’s not a switch so much as a chemical reaction, kinda? But the chemical reaction makes your whole DNA stitch explode and get weird. It took years for the Getting Weird to finish up, though.”

“Yes. That. Um. So--Lup and I--how do I put this, because--”

“Are you guys forcing a species change?”

“How did you--”

“I mean, like--I’m not dumb.”

“Of course not. You don’t—I don’t think that.”

“A lot of people--you guys--assume that, but--whatever. It’s fine. Uh. So. Y’all becoming zombies?”

“Liches.”

“That’s. Uh. Not good.”

“No, no, we found a workaround, an emotional phylactery; Magnus, trust me, I just--did it hurt?”

“Not really? I mean, I was, like, ten. So. I don’t remember too well. But my changes took a little while to set in, and we didn’t even get into the full shift until I was--well, until home got Hungered. But I was turning into a. Not a lich."

“I just--I want this. It’s a way for us to make it through years like the Judge cycle, and--Magnus, I just need to know that it won’t kill me.”

“I--I don’t know! Yours is by choice, mine was forced on me, yours literally involves killing yourself, and mine was just because I saw a dog getting hurt, and--Barry, I can’t let you two do this. I’m supposed to--to protect you, and protect Lup, and protect everybody.”

“We’ve done the math.”

“Have you?”

Barry pushes his glasses up his nose, sighs. “Magnus.”

“Barry. I don’t know, I just--I know this is rich from me, but you’re being reckless.”

“Don’t you want to survive? And win?”

“Promise me you won’t do this, Barry.”

He doesn’t.

And things change, after that. Barry doesn’t trust him, and Lup is awkward about it, and Magnus doesn’t know how to handle it. He doesn't know how to protect people who won't let him.

 

**xv.**

He takes Lucretia’s side. Protection. It’s about protection. But no one else even considers it--so he ends up abstaining from the vote.

But he has an idea for a Relic that can’t hurt, only help. That can protect, that can save, that can stop people from hurting.

“Magnus,” she says, one evening, seeing his design, “We can’t both do bubbles.”

“Oh, we absolutely can both do bubbles. If all of these Relics were just really fun and cool bubble machines that people could just have a really good time with.”

“The most crave-able bubbles.”

“Thank you for finally using my word. Acknowledging it as the best word.”

“It’s the worst word.”

He sticks his tongue out at her.

“I don’t know if--Magnus, you and I both know that this feels wrong, right?”

“Of course I know that, but—Luke, it’s not gonna work no matter what we do. Our Relics are hard to use for harm, so we have that going for us. And, uh. I don’t know, dude. It’s just—we’ve just gotta save this world. That’s what we got.”

She opens her mouth, as if to say something important, but she shakes her head, instead, asks, “Any ducks?”

“Three on the side-table.”

 

**xvi.**

Istus does not favor him on this new home, not in the way she always did when she existed on a plane. His light is uncontrollable, once released, his dreams nightmarish rather than warm. He thinks it’s the Chalice, in that it fights fate, but that’s bullshit, because if fate means people are dying, hurting, that means that fate isn’t good.

He tries to make do.

The wars are hell. The insistence on not interfering is worse. He can resist these weapons, make sure they don’t hurt people, but he can’t, he’s not allowed.

 

**xvii.**

The girl who found him says that he’s the talk of the town, fallen from the sky, a human man with wings. He looks like he could be an agent of the town’s patron, which gets him attention, too. He’s not human, though, and she says, that’s not what matters.

Julia Waxmen thinks he makes an awfully good face for a revolution, pretty and battle-scarred and celestial. She fights dirty, takes him under her metaphorical wing. He carves ducks and plans direct actions, she forges swords and plans sneaky shit. They get on like a house on fire. She calls him dumb shit--angel, birdy, magpie, flyboy--and he calls her Jules, and he is so, so in love with her.

And she doesn’t mock him because he can’t fly. He never learned, he laments to her, even though he had these wings his whole life, he just never learned. She says it’s probably just a matter of muscle memory, but he doubts it. So he doesn’t. Even if the town would be so beautiful from above. Even if he wishes he could see the fog creep up to the bridges, see those purples and reds and blacks and oranges merge and blur, and--he doesn't fly.

He protects his town. His people.

He fights.

 

**xviii.**

Julia asks him, one night, “Do you have a guide?”

“Huh?”

“A--don’t your people have spirits that tell them how to do good?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I was researching--”

“Nerd.”

“Says you! The library is a social service that needs our support--anyway I was looking up, uh. Aasimar wedding traditions. Because--I know you don’t have much of a past, but I want to include what we do have when we--I mean, if, I don’t know--”

“Yes,” he says, “Of course I want to marry you! I want--nothing would make me happier, uh. Is this a proposal?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“Absolutely.”

And the topic of guides never comes up again.

 

**xix.**

A woman he kind of recognizes visits him in a dream the night before he and Julia raid the governor’s mansion. He’s not sure how he knows her--it’s probably an amnesia thing, right?

“Magnus. I’m sorry to have left you for--so long.”

“Who are you?”

She shakes her head, “Julia mentioned guides, months ago, to you Magnus. Long story short: I’m yours, and I’ve been absent, and I’m sorry.”

“Were you there before now, or did you just take twenty-six years to show up?”

“That’s difficult to answer, Magnus, I’m very sorry. I was--afraid, for a little while, that you wouldn’t listen, but I’ve learned things, now. And, Magnus, I want to talk to you about your destiny.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Istus.”

“Uh. Do you know why--Julia said that Protector Aasimar wings aren’t permanent. And that, uh. They’re not corporeal either.”

“Somebody fucked up with genetics. That’s--well, my B, I suppose,” she sighs, laughs a little bit, “I don’t often take celestial emissaries, Magnus. But you--”

“I’m not your emissary.”

“You’ve served as one your whole life, Magnus, it’s--complicated. But I need to talk to you about tomorrow.”

“Is it gonna. Fail?”

“No, no, it’s statistically improbable. But you can’t kill him, Magnus.”

“I didn’t want to kill him.”

“Good.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“I can’t say.”

“Why should I listen to you, then?”

“I’m—I’ve been with you.”

“No, you haven’t. I—“

“Magnus, please, listen.”

 

**xx.**

He wakes up.

“Wing’s pokin’ my eye,” Julia groans.

“Stressful dream. Sorry.”

“No, hon’, it’s—it’s okay.”

And she kisses him, soft, gentle. She’s so beautiful, he thinks. So kind, so strong, and he loves her, would do anything for her.

So that afternoon, he kills the man who made her life a living hell in cold blood.

Istus comes to him that night again, and tells him she’s sorry, and that his fate has shifted.

“He would’ve come back,” she says, “And people would have died. But for the greater good, for—for the sake of the world, it seemed. Necessary.”

“Who would’ve died?”

“Seventy-nine. Julia included.

“I’m sworn to protect, not to let my family die for the sake of the greater good.”

“I know, Magnus.”

 

**xxi.**

His wedding is bombed by Kalen’s right hand. He survives.

He is the only one to survive.

 

**xxii.**

His wings are broken, badly, from the explosion, the impact of flying into a mountain, of inertia and trauma and everything else terrible about the world. He wanders around the Roost instead of waiting to heal. A woman on the edge of town wraps them up, calls him fascinating. She looks familiar. Her hair is white, but she is young and her skin is a deep, dark brown.

“Istus?” he asks, wincing as she applies her third healing spell.

“Gods, no!” she laughs, sad, “Just trying to help. Are you—okay?”

“I’m a—“

“A what?”

“She died and it was my fault, and everyb—I’m supposed to protect! That’s my whole thing. And I failed so—so much.”

“You don’t—look at me.”

He does. His neck burns.

“Sometimes bad shit happens. It just—happens. And we can’t blame ourselves. We can’t. I—a woman I loved died because she blamed herself for something terrible, and—Magnus.”

“How d’you know my name?”

“You’re fairly famous around here. It’s not like you’re hard to spot in a crowd.”

She looks at him, square in the eyes. He feels empty. He feels heavy. He feels neither of those things.

“I need to leave. People are gonna blame me or pity me, and—I can’t do that. I need to be away from reminders, and—where Kalen’s people can’t find me.”

“I killed the bomber,” says the woman, “Saw him running. And I killed him.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like seeing worlds burn.”

She looks sad. She looks like she’s missing something. She looks young. She looks old.

“I can take you to Neverwinter. I can’t promise anything after that; there’s a lucrative job opportunity for me in the Felicity Wilds.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Do you need it?”

“You have mine.”

“I suppose I do. Lou.”

“Last name?”

“...Starblaster.”

“Huh.”

“Yes.”

 

**xxiii.**

They shake on it. He packs his axe, his shield, his knife, and some clothes, nothing else. She offers to help him hide his wings, a gift he takes happily. It only lasts two hours a day, but it makes grabbing food and stealth much easier. He’s running on default right now, broken, occasionally re-shattered with a memory. He worries about the garden they planted last week, worries about tiny things that don’t matter, because he knows that if he thinks about the big stuff, he’ll remember that he failed.

He failed.

“How’re the. Wings.”

“Uh. Still kinda hurt, but they’re really more decorative than anything else, so. Unless I’m fighting, they’re not really useful anyway.”

“You can’t fly?”

“Nah, I—never learned how.”

She looks upset, at that.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s okay. Just—would be useful.”

“Do you live in Neverwinter?”

“I’m more nomadic than anything, frankly. I, uh. Work with the Millers.”

“The scientists? They sent us—“

“Yes, uh, I was a big fan of your revolution.”

“It’s really—uh. Thanks. You’re good at talking.”

“That’s my job. I’m a bard. Um.”

“Why did Miller Labs hire a bard?”

She shakes her head, “I have some information they’re interested in. They have technology I’m interested in. It’s a win-win.” She smirks, “Of course, I don’t tell them everything. That’d ruin my prospects. But it’s good to have a connection like them. Are you--you don’t have to be unemotional re: everyone you know dying.”

“Cool phrasing. Are you just learning bard shit?”

“Well, pardon me for hesitating a moment. I’ve lost people, too, Magnus, I’m not opposed to talking through this with you. Death is often poeticized, but that’s really only for the party that has no more need for poetry."

“And you poeticize your criticisms of poetry.”

“I’m multidimensional.”

 

**xxiv.**

Neverwinter is three hours away, and Magnus’ brain has decided that repression doesn’t suit it. Some of Lou’s things burn, and his body burns, and she manages to shield herself, and the cosmetic spell refuses to reapply itself when he finally settles.

“I’m--” he says, and she shakes her head.

“I understand. I, uh. Travelled with one of your people, once. You mentioned that Istus calls herself your patron; uh. He was, too.”

“Oh.”

“He was like a brother to me.”

She keeps driving, as if nothing happened. Magnus, calmed down as he may be, is still crying.

“Looks like they’re healed up.”

“Uh.”

She pulls over, walks out of the cart. He follows her.

“You gonna kill me?”

She flinches at that, looks confused. He laughs.

“Just fucking with you.”

Which is forty-percent true.

She stares at him, “No. I want to test a theory. Running jump, see if you can fly.”

 

**xxv.**

He flies, and it feels so familiar, so correct, that he almost forgets his universe fell apart last week. Like he’s needed to do this, like it was something he was used to. Air surrounds him, rushes around him and shields him, and Istus says, in his mind, _you are safe_.

And he is.

When he lands, Lou and the cart are gone. His bag is right in front of him.

He does what feels natural. He flies to Neverwinter.

 

**xxvi.**

“Holy shit,” says Taako From TV, looking at him.

“Yeah, I’m pretty intimidating,” he say, “These bad boys can do a lot for the ol’ brand.”

“Fuck yeah, yes, yes. You are a freak of nature, and I love it, my man.”

“You go any faster? On those?” asks Merle, the dwarf, who has already tried to convert Magnus to Pan’s Church seven times.

“Nah, same speed as usual, but I can do air stunts.”

“I can do cool flips.”

“I’m not so dextrous, but I’m nice to have around.”

And a team is formed, and Magnus, for the first time in the four years since his wedding, feels at home. Taako and Merle aren’t _nice_ , sure, but neither is he. Merle is good for talking about religion. It was forced on them both, in different ways, but they have too many doubts to be comfortable with it, and the sharing of these feelings feels good, feels healthy. Istus even says so, says, _Protect Them_ , whenever he so much as blinks around them. And Taako is--Taako is like falling into an old rhythm, a quick dynamic of jokes and stunts and strategies. Taako says they’re not alike, but Magnus disagrees.

 

**xxvii.**

Their employer’s bodyguard is incredibly interested in Magnus.

“Can I take one of these? A coin told me they were good luck, and, uh.”

“What the fuck?” asks Taako.

“I got a lot of feathers, Taako, it’s okay.”

“Yeah, cool, whatever, I put some in my component pouch _last week_ , but a _coin_?”

“A magic coin.”

“A magic coin told you that Maggie’s feathers are lucky?” Merle is staring at Bluejeans.

“Yes. Well. He told me that if I saw a grown-ass man with magpie wings and a beard, I should take a feather for my future’s sake.”

“I mean, go wild.”

“You trust that?”

“I’m a nice person!”

 _“I’m_ a nice person--”

“Solid eh, there, Old Man Mary Jane.”

“Aw, fuck you, I’m a nice person and I’m not givin’ strange men in blue jeans my damn beard hair.”

“Because nobody _wants_ that, Merle.”

“It could be a lucky charm!”

“But it’s not.”

 

**xxviii.**

The thing is, he’s expected to bring everybody back up from the well.

The other thing is, he’s got Taako on his back when he sees Phandalin, or the wreckage thereof.

“Dude,” says Taako, “Uh.”

Magnus is about to scream.

“You’re a woodcarver, right? Cuz--you gotta _shape_ this.”

Taako jumps off of his back, lands in front of him, stares at him.

Taako says: “Focus.”

Magnus breathes. Looks at Taako. Sees where he’s faltering, considers how to help him. He likes him, he thinks, he’s really, really cool.

“Mags, focus. Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“And you’re yourself?”

“Sometimes I lose control and kinda black-out. My patron and I aren’t. Super tight.”

“But you’re in control right now.”

“Because you’re nice,” he says.

“I’m not nice. Calm the fuck down.”

And that works, somehow. And Magnus falls to the ground, picks up Merle and Killian from the well. Magnus actually kinda likes Killian, who had asked what the fuck he meant by “I’m aasimar,” because those are permanent wings, motherfucker, and we here at the Meaningless Static have done a lot of research on planar mutations and that’s not a normal one, is it, sideburns. She seems pretty rough-and-tumble, she would make a cool workout buddy if he could get her to trust him.

Once all is discussed and a weird glove is picked up ( _protect protect protect_ , same as the umbrella, same as the static, same as Barry Fucking Bluejeans, dead now, failure that Magnus fucking is), Killian offers them a job.

“Will it pay?”

“Yeah.”

“Housing?”

"Absolutely.”

“Will it help us protect people?”  
  
“Yeah, of--of course. We can’t let this happen again.”

“We can’t.”

 

 **xxix**.

Lou runs the Bureau of Balance, which is universally forgotten about because of a fish that he is immediately drawn to. And Lou _owns_ the fish, and Lou really _did_ abandon him at the side of the road one time, not knowing if he could fly or anything.

“You,” she says, and she smiles, “You’re doing a lot better than you were four years ago.”

“So are you. Throne room. I don’t think you stole any of my money when you left me in a ditch--”

“I didn’t leave you in a ditch, Mr. Burnsides, I left you midair, because of a family emergency.”

(protect)

“Now. How about an explanation for your memories?”

 

**xxx.**

The only employee at the Fantasy Costco also insists on taking one of his feathers, and he’s starting to buy Taako’s conspiracy theory that there is a plot re: his feathers.

 

**xxxi.**

“This is a stealth mission, so, uh. Good fucking luck, Magnus,” says Lou, who calls herself the Director, “The spell won’t last long enough, and that’s fairly complex illusion magic, so I can’t teach you boys, and. Eugh. Okay, forgot to consider _this_ part.”

“If we just roll with it, no one’ll care,” offers Taako, “Like, yeah, our fighter is a birdman, what the fuck about it?”

“What _wings_?”

“Oh, these old things? Hah, they’re just me doin’ me!”

“You three are... ridiculous. But. Considering that we don’t want to make a _scene_ , I think that’s somehow the--the best plan. Get the hell out of my office.”

Of course, all things considered, they never thought they’d meet a fucking boy genius.

“Sir, I’m fairly sure that you’re not human!”

“Aw, c’mon, Ango, I’m human as they come!”

“It takes a hell of a failed Perception check for that to be believable, sir! Why are you lying?”

“Because I don’t like attention?”

“The wings and glowing eyes and extreme scarring and very large body tend to attract attention, sir. Sorry to inform you. But it takes you off of my suspect list, because _then_ we’d have solved this a lot quicker! You’re pretty hard to miss.”

 

**xxxii.**

“Merle’s is the only mask that makes the slightest bit of sense,” Hurley says, “Because, for reasons previously stated, _you_ want a mongoose, and you want a _bear_.”

“I like bears a lot?”

“But you have--you have bird wings.”

“Can the man like a fucking bear?”

“Why are you defending this? You seem pragmatic! Like, there’s cool theme potential, here!”

“Do I _really_ need a harness? I can fly.”

“Yes, you need a harness--”

“I just like bears a lot, it’s not a crime. And tell me that a flying bear isn’t cool.”

“It’s--non-traditional. I’ll tell you that. And I’m okay with non-traditional, just know that you’ll get some shit.”

“I always get some shit.”

“I mean, fair.”

 

**xxxiii.**

“Okay, you’re a fuckin’ raven, go talk to her--”

“I’m not a bird. I don’t know how many times I have to explain this to you, I’m--”

(He fails to protect two more. Somehow, Istus says that they are saved nonetheless.).

 

**xxxiv.**

Lucas has a particular scientific interest in Magnus that makes Magnus incredibly uncomfortable. And Magnus isn’t one to feel _too_ uncomfortable--he doesn’t like insane attention, but he likes compliments, and he likes contact with other living beings. But Lucas Miller is going over his whole deal with such a level of dehumanization (which is a word Magnus feels weird using) that Magnus might never want to interact with anyone ever again.

“Lucretia’s just running a magical creature emporium over here--”

“Seems like a little bit of a reach.”

“Yeah,” says Johann, “Uh, Magnus is like--a pretty normal dude. He’s kinda hard to deal with, but, uh, so are you, and I really wish you would leave, Lucas, please, this conversation has been going on for thirty minutes.”

“I can and will kick your ass, science man.”

Istus doesn’t like Lucas. She tells him that when he closes his eyes.

“I’m so intimidated by a failed revolutionary with _wings_ that Lucretia hired because he didn’t fall for a fuckin’ _glove_ , oh, wow--”

And Lucas is pinned to the Voidfish’s tank. Avi has conjured popcorn, which Taako is eating and Merle is reaching up for.

“Don’t you _dare_ \--”

“What? Bring up the fact that you wasted perfectly good technology that Lucretia _stole_ for your fucking war that got people killed? Your war that only got people killed because you were _special--_ ”

“You think I wanted people to die? You think I _wanted_ to lose the only people I’ve met who didn’t see me as a freak?"

“Magnus,” says Avi, from behind, but Magnus is too angry for this, he’s ready to fight, he’s ready to take off.

“You don’t even know what loss is, Magnus, you don’t know how it--”

He gets ready to punch, and his hand makes contact with an invisible wall.

“Lucas, leave my Reclaimers alone,” the Director (Lucretia, a much nicer name than Lou, fits her better), “Magnus, if you hurt him, he’ll get worse. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“Lucretia, you can’t just--do you know how many people died because of him? Do you know how many people--”

“Believe it or not Lucas, I trust my employees, and I trust Magnus’ patron not to steer his actions wrong.”

“Patron?”

“Lady Istus, Lucas, don’t you know? Or, rather--leave.”

“Isthmus?” Merle stage whispers, and Magnus calms down with just that, with a laugh. Avi asks him if he’s okay, because Avi is Avi, and Magnus doesn’t know how to answer, but--

He thinks he likes Lucretia.

 

**xxxv.**

A voice in the lab that is not quite Istus’ is talking to him. He turns back to look and just sees a light. Merle has already lost his arm to a false god.

“Whatever you are, please stop trying to kill us and just tell us, none of this god bullshit--”

“With pleasure.”

(In the end, he cannot bring himself to spare Lucas, who almost let so many people die, who hurt people for no reason, who kept innocents captive, who lied and lied and lied. Noelle, he cannot let die, when he killed her, when he’s why she died. And Kravitz--

Well, Kravitz tells him that he’s “a real piece of work,” and Magnus takes it as a compliment. Taako asks if it's hurtful to assume that they know each other, what with their similar bird-affinity, and Magnus blazes the remaining macarons with radiant light. "I was just gonna ask if you could get me his number!")

 

**xxxvi.**

“You _can_ do sick air stunts, but you’re not, like--sweet flips level yet.”

“Carey, you and I both know that I could never reach sweet flips levels.”

“Yes, but you need to use your sorta. Unsubtle qualities to your _advantage_ , if you wanna rogue. Because we can’t hide this shit. And we can’t treat it like it’s nothing, so why don’t we take advantage of it?”

 

**xxxvii.**

“Are you--” the knight-bird outside of the town they’re in is frantic, “You’re the visitor! You’re back!”

“The--what?”

“The man from the sky, who brought us our heroes--”

“I’ve never been here in my whole life, Roswell, I’m sorry.”

“Well,” they say, “Explain this.”

And in the middle of town, there he is in iron: a decade or so younger, wings outstretched, a sad-looking smile on his face. The flowing fabric tied around his waist is oxidized, red.

Taako is looking at him. Merle is looking at him. Roswell is looking at him.

“And you _liked_ the Visitor, right?”

“He saved our town!”

“Wait, oh my God, I’m so stupid,” Magnus says, catching on, “I remember--the ol’--”

“Birdbrain,” Taako contributes.

“For the seventieth fucking time--”

_“You didn’t tell me about sixty-nine?”_

“I don’t wanna give you the satisfaction!”

 

**xxxviii.**

Merle is not happy that Magnus and Taako are getting hero-worship in this town, even if Magnus’ is unfounded and Taako’s is just because the girl doesn’t know that he killed people. Nonetheless, Taako and Magnus are basking in it.

The hypothetical truth that he saved this town, back during the Relic Wars, makes him feel like he’s not failing his goal. There’s a temple to Istus in town, too, so it adds up, kind of.

But then, time resets.

“You’re back,” says an old woman in the space, staring directly at him.

“I think you have the wrong guy--”

And then they wake up.

 

**xxxix.**

The temple of Istus is beautiful, is pristine, once reconstructed, and Magnus does not understand why she selected him. He doesn’t even match her color palette.

“You don’t even match her color palette,” Taako says, and Magnus nods emphatically.

He’s never seen her whole self, her whole form, and he’s humbled by it. She’s all soft, eyes crinkling as she smiles at the three of them. And she tells them that they’re special, and she offers Merle and Taako jobs

“You never gave me an option,” he says, “And you--you hide things from me, and you--I’m failing at what you want me to do; I let Julia and Raven’s Roost die, I let Phan--”

“Magnus, you’re not failing me.”

“Fuckin’ feels like it.”

“You’re doing amazing.”

He wants to believe her more than he wants anything else in the world.

 

**xl.**

The Chalice offers him a chance to spare Kalen.

But he remembers the consequences that Istus warned him about.

He’s not dumb.

 

**xli.**

June says that it’s so nice to see him again, it’s so good that he’s alive. She asks him why he doesn’t remember her. He thinks about the static. His head hurts.

“I did what you told me to do,” she says, sad, “I kept it safe. I didn’t let anybody else near it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You told me to keep something safe, and I did.”

She smiles at him, teethy. One tooth is loose, right by the front ones.

“I’m really sorry.”

He hugs her, and he doesn’t know why, tells her she’s doing wonderfully. If this town should burn, collapse in on itself as time breaks down, he can still protect this child who remembers him, even if he doesn’t.

All is said and done pretty quickly, and Avi stares at the statue, says, “I dunno how you’d forget an encounter that gets you set in metal, man.”

“He kept us safe,” says June, “I was real little and he took me flying.”

(But he only learned to fly after the wedding, didn’t he?)

 

**xlii.**

The Voidfish sings as he enters their chamber, and it glows a faint light. He uses his healing light--he had today off training, it’s fine--to signal back, and they spin, sing again, a three-note pattern different than its normal one.

“Do you know why I can’t remember what happened to me? Why me and Taako and Merle all have gaps?”

And it sings its normal song, and the notes make sense, all of the sudden. The Voidfish had a child. There’s another one.

And it sings its first song again, D, A, D.

He squints, and he runs away.

The next morning, he sneaks Angus out to Neverwinter so he can get some help on locating this thing.

 

**xliii.**

“Oh, Magnus, I was _waiting_ for you to roll this one.. Magnus, you’re rather… unique, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh, he’s _delectably_ unique.”

“Miraculously special.”

“Take ‘em. Take the fucking wings.”

“That easy? But Magnus, they led your revolution!”

“They helped you through all of those terrible worlds--”

“They helped you succeed when you would have failed.”

“None of that makes _any sense_ , I don’t even know what you’re saying! Take them. I don’t want them, they make me--”

“Magnus,” says Taako, arcane cosmetics evident in spite of Magnus’ True Sighs, “Take the penalty.”

“Taako.”

“Take it.”

“Okay, but--I’ll take one of the rolls, still.”

“Good. Ch’boy can’t take two.”

Another bad luck, for Magnus, and a lost memory of an assistant, for Taako. Magnus wonders, what would it be like to forget someone so wholly; what he would do if he forgot someone who ruined his life.

 

**xliv.**

Being a mannequin fucking sucks. He can’t feel, and he tries to at least use his radiance, tries to lift off, and he can’t. He doesn’t feel hunger, he doesn’t feel anything.

He remembers: one time, he saved a dog. He didn’t have wings, but they manifested for a minute. And he stared at the suns, and he thought he’d see them someday, and Gods above did he succeed at that.

He remembers: he’s had wings his whole life. The sky has one sun. He had never been close to space until last year. He is a failure.

He is a failure.

 

**xlv.**

“I want my body back! Do--is there a button we pu--like how does--I want. I want it? I feel like a kid at Candlenights. Please let me have my body.”

“Magnus, you’ve gotta think this through. Now hold on a sec, you’ve gotta think this through. You… you’ll lose everything. I mean, not your gear and your - your weapons and your items and Steven, but you’ll--you’ll be starting from scratch.

“But I’ll have my body back! You were just--you told me to keep my wings. You _just_ told me.”

“Maggie, half the Bureau thinks you’re dead. That this mannequin form is just a spirit claiming to be you, because our good friend Lucretia became a warlock in Wonderland, remember?”

“Yeah, uh, how are we gonna explain that?”

“I got better?”

“Bad.”

“I can’t feel _anything_ . I’m--I’m not hungry. I don’t breathe. My heart doesn’t beat. Do you under--do you understand? And that’s me! That’s me! Right there! Those are the arms that have held the only woman I’ve ever loved. I can’t fight, I can’t protect, I can’t do anything in this body. I have worked all my life to be able to fight and protect and do good. And I’ve _failed,_ boys, I’ve failed so much, and that was before I was useless. That was before I was weak, and flightless, and--and powerless, and dead. And I want, so badly, to feel like I can be myself again.”

“It’s your call, man.”

“I’m doing this now. Taako, you gotta kill me. This body, I mean. I--I can’t do this anymore, I can’t be like this--”

“Kinda lacking in pragmatism, my man.”

“You two can catch me if I fuck up?”

“I mean. No offense, Mango, but you’re kinda heavy--I’m fucking kidding, I’ll cast feather fall. Or some other spell to stop an injury, considering you two are useless. But, I mean, fuck you. I--I’m not fucking heartless. You’re my friend.”

“I’m your _friend_?”

And Taako casts Magic Missile at him, and he’s, quite suddenly, whole again.

 

**xlvi.**

“I was told you had died.”

“I got better?”

“Also, we have a Red Robe captive. He actually helped us disable your lich wards.”

“We’re opening with that?”

“It’s not, like, the worst opener, Merle. Give him credit. You’re the Zone of Truth guy.”

“And you explained your own rise from death with ‘I got better,’ so I regret my opener now.”

“You trust Merle over me?”

“Uh, yeah, in terms of social situations?”

“I have higher charisma than _both_ of you!”

“Can we--can we continue?”

“Yes. Uh. Lucretia. Lou. Lu. Madam Starblaster. This is Barry.”

“Madam Starblaster?”

“Hi, Barry. I needed a fake name. And it had been a minute since I’d last had a good one. Wanna explain how you necromanced the kid?”

“Ma’am, I’m older than you. To be fair.”

“Wanna explain how both of you are _my age_?”

“You were thirty-six. I’m thirty.”

“I’m _still_ thirty-six. Anyway, I’m mad at you, so--Nevermind. No more fucking banter.”

“Sir--sir. Oh. You have your body back. Uh--sorry, Madam Director, ma’am, to interrupt, but I think I’ve solved your egg mystery!”

“Nice.”

“Uh, Taaky, did he lay an egg?”

“I’m not a bird!”

 

**xlvii.**

(i saw seven birds:

the phoenix

the wordless one

the peacemaker

the philosopher

the protector

the lover

and the lonely journal-keeper).

 

**xlviii.**

They win.

They _win_ . He’s in the sky, Angus on his back, and they _won_ , past tense, it’s over, it’s finally done. A century of flight back in his head, a century of failures and successes, and he thinks--

He doesn’t have to protect by himself. He is a protector, but he is no sole guardian of the world. Istus tells him to protect, and tells him he is amazing, and he does, and he is.

He talks to Lucretia, once he lands.

“Thank you for, uh. Helping me. After the bombs.”

“It was the least I could do. I took away--I took flight from you. I took humanity from you. You deserved someone. And, Magnus. You, uh. Saved my life, back then. I hope you know. I was ready to die in Wonderland. And you dissuaded me from risking too much. Of all of the people in the world, you--”

“I’m a protector, Luke. It’s my job to make sure you don’t do dumb shit. I don’t remember telling you anything about, uh. Protecting yourself, though.”

“Seeing you fly again. You made me remember that I had to think about the six of you. It’s why I left. It’s why I took on the warlock instead of, you know. Aging twenty years, or sacrificing my, uh. Feelings. For Lup.”

He hugs her, for the second time that day.

 

**xlix.**

“Ango, can you--can you cast Fly yet? I wanna show you something.”

“Uh, yes, sir. I can do that!”

Raven’s Roost is beautiful. (Wrong corvid, says Barry’s voice in his brain, but closer than ducks). He has never flown over it before, never seen it from above so clearly. And it is as beautiful as he expects it, and some, the fog of below climbing up toward the bridges. He’ll have to work on fixing those, work on bringing the town back to life.

“This is home,” he says, “Mine. The home I had here.”

“It’s wonderful, sir.”

“I’m gonna move back. Gonna try and rebuild. Maybe train service dogs, or some shit.”

“Oh. I thought you were going to stay on the Moon.”

“Nah. This is a good place for me. But--not to sound like Mufasa, or anything but. Uh. You wanna, like. Help me? When you’re on breaks from school, I mean. If you want to.”

“You would want me?"

“Of course I’d want you! You’re the lightest piggyback buddy I have. And I need a man with his head outta the clouds.”

“Was that a bird joke?”  
  
“Don’t tell Taako.”

 

**l.**

“How dare you never fly me around town.”

“I didn’t _remember_ , Jules!”

Even dead, even here in the Astral Plane, he feels like light. Feels free and safe. He has protected so many, loved so much. And here he is, with his wife, and they’re staring at the sky.

And he flies up to see it every day.

**Author's Note:**

> (1) i can't explain this either  
> (2) every member of the ipre gained a racial feat during the first shift, as well as some other minor changes, because Bonds. magnus gets angelic wings (homebrew for dnd but pathfinder has it), barry gets human determination, lucretia gets prodigy, lup gets elven accuracy, taako gets fey teleportation, davenport gets wonder maker, merle gets dwarf resilience.  
> (3) i am a film student and all Bad Science in this fic can be shrugged off with "it's fantasy" and "bonds." this includes wing physics.  
> (4) magnus' only mentioned family (as in. not in a goof). is his grandpa so let's eat up those ango-mag parallels huh. #mangoadoptango2kforever  
> (5) i used magpie for bird symbolism for magnus in another fic but mostly that was because magnus is Bad At Names. they're scrappy lil dudes, though, with dope looking wings, and they're incredibly protective of their families. also, i need to justify divination!magnus to myself, and magpies are bad omens so.  
> (6) lucas miller die challence  
> (7) please leave a review! or a kudo! or both, both is probably best. i love you!


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